


memories demand attention

by casophon



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Gen, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 11:20:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4017829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casophon/pseuds/casophon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Authority figures throughout Matt's life tried to tell him something was wrong about Stick, but it took about 20 years to get it through his thick skull.</p><p>From a prompt on the kinkmeme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	memories demand attention

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt: http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/1296.html?thread=1740560#cmt1740560
> 
> M: Learned a lot since you've been gone. S: Like what? M: You're a dick.  
> How did Matt come to learn that? As much as I love Foggy, I would love to see some original character(s) that help Matt come to this realization. Could be a nun, a professor, a doctor...or could be more than one person...but I imagine they would be in positions of authority and older.

  
  
It's his first check-up since Stick began training him, and the doctor is alarmed by the large, tender bruise on his hip.  
  
"What happened here, kiddo?"  
  
"I fell," Matt replies by rote, but he can tell by the doctor's subvocal disapproval that he doesn't believe him. "I fell during karate class," he adds, hoping it's close enough to the truth to dissuade any further questions.  
  
"You're doing karate?" The doctor sounds slightly less suspicious. There's the sound of a file opening, notes being scratched into paper with a pen almost out of ink. "It's good to stay active, but make sure you let your sensei know you need to take it a bit easier, okay?"  
  
"He was the one who flipped me," Matt says, and immediately regrets it. The pen scratches stop.   
  
_I can't tell him, he'll make Stick go away, and I don't want that..._    
  
"I told him I can take it, though! I'm getting a lot better at landing!" he interjects before the doctor can say anything. There's silence for one frightening moment before the doctor sighs and laughs to himself.  
  
"I'm sure you can, Matthew. Just make sure to tell him if he's being too hard on you next time. I'm sure he wouldn't like to think that he's hurt you."   
  
No, Stick knows when he hurts Matt; it just means he has to get better, stronger.  
  


 

* * *

 

  
  
"Matthew?" There's a knock on the door, loud enough that the nun might as well have been knocking on his skull. "May I come in?"  
  
She doesn't wait for a reply, but walks in anyway. Matt startles out of his aborted meditation attempt.  
  
"Matthew, I wanted to speak to you about the man who comes to visit," she says gently. She's one of the younger ones - Mary Cecilia Claire, he thinks, or at least something equally long and unwieldy - and new to the orphanage; she still cares far too much for her own good. "I spoke to Sister Mary Joan, and she said..."  
  
She's nervous about something, and it unsettles Matt in turn, but he waits for her to find the words.  
  
"I understand that he's helping you to- to cope with the changes and that's wonderful, it really is... And I'm certain he is due some compensation for his time and care." Sister Mary  _etc_  is the kind of person to speak with her entire body; he hears her shifting and wringing her hands. "Has anyone spoken to you about...?"  
  
"Yes," Matt lies, "I'm not old enough to make decisions about my inheritance but they did talk to me about, um, his payment. It's okay."  
  
"Oh, good," the sister says, sighing with relief. "I'd hate to think you're being taken advantage of. But oh, you're mature for your age, so I'm glad to hear you're aware of the situation."  
  
"Thanks," Matt says, discomfort churning in his stomach.  
  


 

* * *

  
  
This isn't the first time he's called to the teacher's desk after class. Normally, it's gentle conversations about bullies and proud suggestions to transfer into advanced classes; today is different. Mr. Taylor folds his hands on his desk and waits for the last stragglers to leave the room before speaking.  
  
"Matthew, I might be overstepping my bounds here, but I'm going to be contacting St. Agnes soon. Do you have any idea why I might be doing that?"  
  
"No, Mr. Taylor," Matt says, scuffing the floor with his feet. The bruise under his glasses throbs, but it's nothing like the ache in his shins; Stick pushed him off a balcony the other day, and although he managed not to break anything, his landing was less than perfect.  
  
"I can't force you to talk to me, or anyone else. But I see you come in here with black eyes, limping around, and, well, it makes me concerned." Matt gasps a bit under his breath, mentally chastising himself for being obvious about his injured leg. The voice had been gentle, but is suddenly firm and commanding. "Matthew, who is hurting you?"  
  
He doesn't want to lie. Mr. Taylor is one of the better teachers, who doesn't assume he's stupid just because he's blind, and also always remembers to describe any images he uses in his powerpoints. But he knows it won't end well if they think Stick is hurting him. "It's a bully," Matt mumbles, head down, hoping Mr. Taylor will take it from there.  
  
"Will you tell me who?"  
  
"No."  
  
His teacher sighs.   
  
"I understand why you might not want to tell me, but I want you to know that reporting a bully isn't being a 'tattletale,' okay? If you tell us what's happening, we can help you stand up against them, and make sure they don't hurt anyone else."  
  
Matt just keeps his head down. His teacher sighs.   
  
"Alright. If you change your mind, I'll be here. But I will have to let St. Agnes know what's going on."  
  
Taking that as his cue, Matt nods and hurries out the door before Mr. Taylor asks anything else. Stick might act like a bully, but it's for his own good, Matt reminds himself.  
  
And whether Mr. Taylor reports it or not doesn't matter. The sisters cared, but could only do so much. When someone offers to take care of their  _problem child_ , they found themselves less than eager to address any concerns.  
  


 

* * *

  
  
It's Sr. something-or-other again at the door. He tells her to leave, but she barges in anyway. Matt just burrows further under his blankets in response.  
  
The bed creaks as she settles next to him. She says nothing, but rests a hand on his shoulder, the pressure muted by the blanket between them.  
  
"I want you to know, Matthew, that there will be people in your life that will leave before you're ready. But you should know that the choice to leave is theirs and theirs alone; you can't be blamed for a decision someone else made. And remember that, in the end, you are never truly alone. The Lord is always and forever by your side."  
  
_It's my fault,_  he wants to say.  _I was weak. I wasn't good enough. This is what I deserve._    
  
But she wouldn't understand, couldn't understand, so he says nothing. She gives his shoulder a squeeze and leaves him alone again.  
  


 

* * *

  
  
Matt's tipsy - not drunk, never drunk, can't let himself be drunk - but he's definitely had one more than he'd planned on having.  
  
It's hard to say no to Foggy, who had sunk his heels into the ground and wouldn't give up until Matt became his best friend. They're celebrating the end of their first quarter of law school. Celebrations for good grades will come later - just finishing was accomplishment enough.  
  
"Cheers!" Foggy says, clanking his glass into Matt's and draining it. Matt takes a sip and puts his back on the counter.  
  
The music here is loud and the sound of people talking incessantly is almost overbearing, but he doesn't mind it. He could have had this, earlier, before one very insistent roommate decided he needed more of a life than studying.  
  
The words come back to him, as they always do, whenever he starts getting comfortable.  
  
_You have to push away the people around you to be effective at what you do._  
  
He doesn't  _do_  that, not any more. At least, not beyond a few rounds with the sandbag every week. But he can't forget the way those words sunk into his very core.  
  
When they leave, Matt leans into Foggy's arm. Maybe he's holding on a bit too closely and a bit too tightly, but the warmth is comforting.  
  
"I used to know this guy," Matt says haltingly. Foggy tips an ear towards him and waits for him to go on. "He was... he taught me how to get around after the accident. He'd always say, 'a blind man does not trust any way another man tells him to step'."  
  
"That's bullshit," Foggy says far too loudly. "I'd never guide you wrong! Except for that one time with the puddle, but that was an accident."  
  
"He was a dick," Matt blurts out before he could think about it. Foggy is agreeing with him, but Matt is quiet, surprised at the words that came out of his own mouth.  
  
But it's true.  
  
He thinks back to all the people throughout his life that expressed concern and realizes he's probably the last person to figure it out.  
  
Stick  _was_  a dick, a dick who pushed him off of buildings and hit him with his bo and left him for some petty, incomprehensible reason.   
  
After all this time, the anger and bitterness have mostly settled. All Matt can really feel for Stick is pity as he hugs Foggy's guiding arm closer to his chest.


End file.
